The Hideous Prince
by Indigo Ziona
Summary: A variation on Beauty and the Beast. A queen gives birth to a hideous child, reviled by all except a dreamy merchant's daughter.


_I've recently read J. K. Rowling's "Tales of Beedle the Bard" and remembered how much I enjoy fairy tales, particularly the more unusual and obscure ones. So although this is based mostly on Beauty and the Beast there is a little of stories like The Black Bull of Norroway and East of the Sun and West of the Moon. But folk tales are invariably derivative, and luckily the Brothers Grimm hold no copyrights._

**The Hideous Prince**

Once there were a king and queen who had tried many years for children and an heir to the throne. After some twenty years of taking potions and and the advice of many doctors, they allowed a local wise woman, rumoured to be a witch, to say an incantation for childbirth over the queen. They were overjoyed to discover that the queen soon became pregnant, but their joy turned to sorrow when they saw that the babe was hideous – covered in hair, with sharp, elongated teeth and weird distorted limbs as if he were an animal. Some said this was punishment for consulting a witch, but others that the birth had happened under stars of ill-fortune.

All about the court were much afraid of the prince, and indeed if rumours were to be believed, he grew up feral and savage, eating with claws and retreating much to reclusive spots, growling at any who came near. The king hated his son, and all but disowned him, but the queen loved him and she alone gave him tenderness.

As the prince came of age, again the king and queen considered the subject of their heir. For better or worse, the hideous prince would become king, but unless a bride was found, he would have no issue and the crown would be lost to foreign enemies or the country riven by war. Noble ladies and princesses were so repulsed by the prince's appearance and manners that the crown could not tempt them, and so the king issued a proclamation that any maiden of common birth could seek to wed his savage heir.

Now there happened to be an avaricious merchant who had fallen on hard times, and he had three daughters, all of whom were maidens. Though he had no love for the king nor sympathy for the hideous prince, the merchant determined that one of his brood should be the one to marry him. He sought audience with the king and presented his daughters to him. The king was unimpressed with the three, but nevertheless agreed that they may meet his son, one at a time.

The eldest of the daughters was haughty and vain, and she believed that the prince, being so hideous, would be grateful for her love. So on presentation, though trembling with fear, she told him that she would marry him, and he should have many beautiful gowns and exquisite items of jewellery made for her. But the prince merely growled. She grew stubborn, drawing herself up, and demanding that he respect the love she was offering, the love, she said, that he did not deserve. He roared at her, and she departed.

The second daughter was pragmatic, and not so vain. She explained to the prince that she could not love him - "You are so hideous," she said truthfully – but that she was willing to be a dutiful wife, attending every stately function and requiring little in return, except that he should treat her with kindness and not growl at her. The prince ignored her, and, shrugging her shoulders, she turned away.

The youngest daughter was shy and dreamy, and had not wanted to be presented. Nevertheless, she dutifully met the prince, and saw that he was hunched in a corner and turned away. Although she could see that he was hideous and was a little afraid of him, she realised she felt some pity for him, wretched and unloved as he seemed to be, so she spoke gently to him. First she apologised on behalf of her sisters – she had little love for them and their greediness – then she explained that she only wanted to marry for love, or die a spinster, however poor and barren. The prince turned around, interested by this odd and unassuming girl, who neither demanded nor desired to wed him, and did not expect his love.

"You could not love me?" he said, although he knew that like every maiden, she couldn't.

She was surprised to hear him talk, for he was so beast-like, but she gave the gentlest reply she could.

"I could not love you for your gold and jewels and power, your highness. Folk believe that gold can create love, but it cannot."

And that he knew, for no maiden loved him.

"But love is not grown in the eyes, the hands or the head," she said, "But only in the heart. I have seen poor old folk, withered by time, who love each other with a deathless love, but rich and attractive men and women who fell to hatred of each other all too soon. Someone may yet love you, your highness."

And having said this speech, the peculiar young girl curtseyed the prince and left.

The merchant and his two older daughters assumed that the youngest daughter had failed just like the older two – but love is a mysterious thing. The prince spent many days haunted by the words of the strange girl, and captivated by her odd manners and gentleness. He took to brooding in the rose garden, thinking of her, and when he became bolder, he crept the city's streets, looking for her, watching her from afar as she went about the order of the day. He saw her dreaminess, her tenderness, he saw when she forgot herself and sang to herself in the garden, he saw when she was scolded by the older sisters for making some mistake, and little by little he realised that he was falling in love with her. So he rejoiced and despaired, knowing at last that he was no beast, he who could love, but that she would never love him, in spite of all her fine words about the heart.

He wondered if he might dazzle her with gifts. She may have claimed to be unmoved by wealth, but she was a woman, and so he knew she would love dresses and jewels. He arranged for five fabulous frocks to be made, and the most striking gold and silver jewellery ever seen, and with a minstrel to sing of his love, he sent all these by carriage with six white horses, hoping it could bear evidence to the depth and sincerity of his love.

She was startled, for sure, and, as he watched at a distance, he was sure he caught her make a hungry glance at the beautiful gowns, and the jealous sneers of the two sisters, but she then shrugged and sighed sadly.

"The prince is very kind. But he cannot buy my love," she said, "Please take all this away."

And they did so.

The prince was saddened by this, and worried that he had offended her. So he wrote her a letter, contritely apologising for the apparent slight, and making a new proposal. He explained that he loved her, and wrote of all the many hours he had spent watching her. He said he wanted nothing more than to be allowed to spend every day with her, but understood that she didn't love him. He said that should she marry him, he would tend to her every need and desire, and that she should have the freedom to come and go as she pleased, even being allowed to take lovers, with any children being raised as his own offspring to inherit the kingdom.

The maiden sighed even more as she read the letter, her heart aching for the lonely prince but also repulsed by the false marriage he had proposed. She wrote back a polite letter, explaining that she would only marry a man whom she loved and that she could not bear to be such a false wife.

And the prince was vexed by her rejection, and spent more hours brooding in the rose garden, which seemed to hold the very scent of her in its walls, and the queen feared for her son's health, and the king feared there would be no heir.

But one day as he was sitting in the rose garden, the old woman who had said an incantation for his birth slipped through the gate, although it should rightly have been locked.

"My prince, what torments you?" she asked.

"I love a maiden, but she cannot love me," the wretched prince replied.

"You love a maiden who cannot love you for gold and jewels and cannot be both and princess and a harlot," said the old woman. "How have you tried to earn her love?"

"But my lady," said the prince, for he realised she was no ordinary crone, "I am hideous and have nothing but my riches and my power to woo such a maiden."

"Oh fie, young one," the old woman replied. "Have you not your love? You admire her kindness, her gentleness, and you find elegance even in her clumsiness, but you never offer yourself and your love, just your gold and jewels! Do not blind or dazzle her, but let her see closely."

And after that cryptic saying, the old woman slipped away, so quickly it was as if he had dreamed her. And though her words seemed nonsense, he determined to try once more for her love.

The prince wrote the maiden another letter, this time a brief missive simply asking her to visit him for a day. The maiden, though she pitied him, was becoming impatient with every clumsy effort and hoped that if she agreed he might finally leave her alone.

The king and queen were overjoyed to hear of the visit, and set about preparing the palace as if for the most honoured of guests. The prince himself at last submitted to every effort to civilise him, rehearsing etiquette and sending for the tailor for the finest clothing for his hideous body. The maiden, on her part, did no preparation at all, arriving in her work clothes and leaving her hair unwashed. Her reception was no less welcoming – the king and queen personally greeted her and the prince complimented her appearance as if she were a fine foreign princess. She ate awkwardly at the table, and frowned with every kindness offered by the king and queen. The prince despaired – he felt all was lost. But after the banquet, a breeze blew through the hall, and, seeing a rose petal fly by, he was struck with one last, desperate idea.

Rising from the table, he invited her to come and sit in the rose garden with him. The king and queen were horrified, but said nothing. She just nodded and followed him silently. But he knew she loved the roses, and he saw that she stared at them eyes as wide as saucers. The prince knew not what to say, so they sat in silence for an hour, breathing in the scent of the roses and watching the songbirds at play.

And then the silence became awkward, so he talked about the birds and the roses, the honey bees, the ivy on the walls, and the days he had spent dreaming of her in that very spot. And though she knew not how, the maiden's heart opened to the prince. But she had to ask him one last question.

"Dear prince, what is the most valuable treasure in this palace?"

The prince was startled at the question.

"What do you believe it to be?" he asked her.

And she named the crown – he shook his head, it couldn't be – and she named many of the treasures she had seen, but he realised that none were valuable to him.

Finally she looked at him tenderly and said, "The roses."

And he smiled, knowing the truth of what she had said, that to him they were worth more than gold and silver, but he knew there was one he loved more.

"No, my lady."

"Then what?" she asked, startled.

And he took down a rose and removed the thorns, and gave it to her. "You, my lady, are worth far more than roses."

She stared at him in surprise, feeling finally the sincerity of his love, and realised with joy that she loved him back.

***

Though scorned by many, the young woman and the hideous prince lived happily together for many years. In the second year of their marriage she gave birth to a boy, a boy who was handsome but had some hair about his face and in time grew sharpened teeth, and could have only been the prince's own. The king died a year later, and the prince became king, reigning fairly and allowing ordinary folk to go about in peace. And though the young woman for five years counted herself lucky, in the sixth year she began to ache for friendship and her love for her husband became cooler. For all the fine ladies were frightened of the hideous king, and mocked her for her love of him, thinking she was perverse or deceitful in her love, and the common women of the kingdom dared not consider her an equal.

So her loneliness poisoned her, as loneliness had poisoned the prince many years before, and she grew cold and resentful of her husband and his alarming appearance. Though he adored her and did not care to find fault, he became aggrieved at her coldness and asked her what was the matter.

She darted the question this way and that, and finally confessed her terrible loneliness. He promised her dances and balls, trips to the country and every chance to spend time with any companion she could wish, but to no avail.

"It will not work," she said.

"Why?" he asked. "I will do anything to make you happy."

"But you cannot," she said, "For every companion is afraid of you, and mocks me for being your queen – to love you is to be lonely."

And he was troubled and sad, and withdrew to the rose garden. The next day she regretted her words, and went to find him, but she could not, and soon she realised that he had gone. But her heart became harder, and she told herself she was glad, for now she should have all the privileges of a queen and all the companions she might wish.

Ten more years passed, and the queen grew ever colder and harder, and her son grew up to be a kind and serious young man, fit to rule a kingdom, and as she retired from government, she found she was given to sleepwalking and to vivid dreams. One night she awoke, cold and aching on some far hall of the palace, with a terrible pain in her chest. She called for many doctors but none could help, took every potion and remedy, but her agony continued. Finally, as she lay in her bed believing she was to die, an old woman came to her bedside.

"My child," said the old woman, "What is your pain?"

"My pain is my heart," said the queen.

"You speak truly," said the old woman, "Your pain is your heart, your stony heart cannot go on. You have lost your greatest treasure."

"Nonsense," the queen said, "I have all my treasures." But as in a dream, she felt memories come unbidden to her mind.

"You have lost your love," the old woman said. "Find it and you will be well."

And then she was gone.

The queen felt a little better the next day and wandered about the palace as if to find something she had misplaced. As she went onto the grounds, she found a strange and wild thorny patch, and growing through it, a single rose.

And she knew she could live no longer without the man who had loved her, whom she had driven away. So she summoned her horse and made preparations for a journey. She asked all whom she met if they had seen the man she had married, and though some said they had, others had believed it was just a wolf in the night. When her horse became tired, she walked, on and on until she came to a desert. Something told her she must cross it, so she found strong wooden shoes and all the food and water she could carry, and journeyed by night, sheltering from the terrible heat in the day.

The desert turned to scrub, and she fought through, her wooden shoes lost and turned to sand in the desert, and let her feet become hard and callused. She came to a wild river, and begged the local fisherman to give her his little boat. He tried to refuse, believing she would be killed, but she begged so hard he relented. So she climbed into the little craft, and bore the fury of the river.

Soon the rapids ceased, and she found herself washed up on a shore, feeling beaten and lost. She knew she could not continue for very much longer, but as fortune would have it, she saw a small hut in the distance and decided to ask for lodgings.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. However the door opened a little, and she went in. And there was a little room – a fire in the fireplace, a table and chair, a bowl, some bread, a bed, and in the bed was a hideous man, worn by nature, by the years and by cruelty, and she knew she had found her love at last.

Fearing that he was dead, she kneeled by him, and reached out to touch his brow. He stirred.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"It is your wife," she replied.

And he laughed in his despair. "Oh no," he said, "It cannot be. For I had a wife but her heart grew tough as leather, cold as ice and jagged as rock."

All she could do was reply, "Her heart was jagged, but the wild river wore away its jaggedness. Her heart was cold, but the desert melted its coldness. And it was tough as leather, but after aching for the love she had sent away, it was pierced by a single rose."

He looked up at his wife, and saw that she was worn and withered by her journey and in her search to find him had become almost as hideous as he. He reached out his arms to her, and she slipped into his embrace, finding again his warmth and kindness that had won her love so many years ago. And the hideous prince rested peacefully at last as they died in each other's arms.

**The End**


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